Inspector Thread
by 1-1 Marines
Summary: The story of literature's modern day Inspector Javert, Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread.
1. Origins and District Eleven

**ME: A fanfic from the perspective of Romulus Thread.**

My name is Romulus Thread. I am fifty-nine years old and was born in the year of 15 ADD (After Dark Days) along with my twin brother, Remus. We are both Head Peacekeepers.

Along with a birthday, myself and my brother both share unfortunate origins. Shortly after the birth of our younger sister two years following our own births, our "mother" was arrested for soliciting an off-duty Peacekeeper. Her prostitution was to support her morphling addiction; not the "hooker with a heart of gold" vapid Capitolites are so fond of.

As a result of being the children of a whore, my siblings and I were sent to an orphanage, officially a community home. Said home was officially located in Sub-District Zero; unofficially, the town that contained the orphanage I grew up was known by everyone from the humblest stonecutter to the proudest Victor as District Two's Central City.

Throughout my life my brother and I were always fascinated by the tales of the Dark Days in History class, of the stories of Peacekeepers and other Loyalists who, without hesitation, sacrificed their lives so others could live.

Our schooling made us realize that to emulate these heroes was the highest form of honor. So on our eighth birthday, we decided we would attend the Warrior Academy and join the Peacekeeping Force.

Two years later, we became Warrior Cadets after passing the entrance exams. On our sixteenth birthday in 31 ADD, with the permission of the community home's master (all recruits under 18 have to have a parent or guardian sign a release form), we enlisted.

I graduated first in our class from boot camp, with Remus coming in a close second. We were then sent to OCS for our high scores and leadership skills; remarkably enough, Remus came first while I narrowly lost this time. He became an aide to the Head Peacekeeper of our District, while I was made an assistant platoon commander in the Peacemaking Brigade.

When I was first assigned to the Brigade, I was a mere Second Lieutenant. Now I have the two stars of a Major General on each of my shoulders; my brother Remus, now Head Peacekeeper of District Two, is a Major General as well. To think we were once both abandoned illegitimates.

And, as a result, I answer the questions, requests and video calls from the President. Such as this message:

FROM: President Coriolanus Snow

TO: Head Peacekeeper (Major General) Romulus Thread, Commanding Officer (CO), Peacemaking Brigade

Subject: District 11

1. District 11 is now rioting because of the death of their female Tribute, Rue.

2. Mobilize your brigade and deploy to District 11 immediately.

3. You have my authorization to restore order by any means necessary; those farmhands breed like rabbits anyway.

So those unruly farmers are rioting so badly myself and my elite Peacemakers need to deal with them? I wonder if any of those tough eighteen-year old girls throwing rocks at Boys and Girls in White or destroying their own food supplies was brave enough to volunteer for the pre-teen whose death they're angered by; useless cowards, I hope they all die from Peacekeeper bullets or worse.

It is not long before my troops are headed to the transport train and hovercrafts; the latter for their speed, the former for it's sheer capacity to hold both passengers and freight. In fact, one troop transport train can carry my Peacemaking Regiment in addition to their supplies and vehicles while never touching the ground outside of stops due to magnetic levitation; because of amazing technology like this, myself and my command are strategically mobile enough to go where we need to be.

The rabble shall learn their place once again and harvest their crops obediently, be said crops cotton to be sent to District Eight for the shirts they wear or corn so the orphans of District Two have a proper diet.

**ME: A/N: Updated as of 1/25/15; the regiment-sized Maglev train idea comes from ForFutureReference and his fanfic _Contributions_; check his work out, and thanks for the idea, Future.**


	2. Crackdown

**ME: Time for Eleven to learn why self-destructive rioting is a bad idea.**

On my personal hovercraft, which is a Command-and-Control variant, I talk to the Head Peacekeeper of District Eleven, Major General Theophilus "Bull" Clark.

The bad news? The Justice Building was overrun, and I have a sure feeling the Mayor and his staff will be dead as a doornail by the time my Brigade arrives.

The good news is that the Peacekeeping Complex has not been overrun; machine guns beat Molotov cocktails. Not to mention the Mayor's family is safe due to being evacuated; a pity the patriarch will not be able to say goodbye to his wife and children.

My plan is a simple but ultimately effective one, as all good plans are. First off, instead of the station itself the train will stop outside the District boundaries. Because of the current riot, stopping at the train station would be like having sex with a tracker jacker nest; an incredibly terrible idea that, at best, will result in extreme pain. Similarly, all transport hovercraft are to land and offload their troops; the elite Peacemaking Regiment that serves as the Ground Combat Element (GCE) of my command, consisting of four infantry battalions backed up by a battalion of howitzers, will soon aid the beleaguered Garrison that has protected these disobedient farmhands from themselves. My hovercraft along with others will provide air support; true, it's a not a combat model and the twin guns are meant for defense instead of offense, but it has a PA system necessary to address the unruly horde threatening to destroy the system that has kept Panem civilized while the rest of the world (assuming there are more humans beyond our lands) has probably fallen to barbarism.

"Sir, we're in position above the crowd now," reports one of the pilots some time later.

"Good," I reply. "Time to make an announcement."

I clear my throat before taping my earpiece and addressing the crowd, which hasn't dispersed but now pays attention.

"Attention all citizens of District Eleven," I say clearly and authoritatively as possible, "this is the law. By direct order of our great and magnanimous leader himself, President Coriolanus Snow, you are all under arrest for rioting; some of you will additionally be charged with either the murder of or attempted murder of a Peacekeeper, Auxilia or one or more of your fellow citizens. Those of you who have committed crimes will be subject to a general court-martial and be subject to a fair punishment, while those of you who are innocent will be declared as such by a court-martial panel and thus have nothing to fear. You have been warned, you now have t-minus thirty seconds to comply or my troops will be authorized to use lethal force to restore peace."

Though I can see on the cameras some of the civilians wisely either flee or lay down on the ground with their hands on their heads. Others, however, continue to throw things and riot even as my Peacemakers advance on them. I also suspect they have weapons picked up from dead and wounded Peacekeepers and Auxilias.

They are no longer civilians; they are enemy combatants and thus traitors to the Nation.

"Very well, then," is my reply. "Peacekeepers, open fire!"

Bringing a knife to a gunfight is idiocy of the highest level; it shows when combined fire from hovercraft and the Boys and Girls in White on the ground drive off the rioters. This is good; the fate of the dead and dying traitors is too good for them, but they are dead and that is what truly matters.

I land at the local Peacekeeping Complex. There, I meet my counterpart Clark. He is well regarded as a Head Peacekeeper, for while he dispenses strict discipline to the locals he ensures they have acceptable living conditions for their hard work (though apparently according to some farmhands are poorer than quarriers, the most modest of my home District). After a salute and handshake, he informs me that even though we are of equal rank I have been granted temporary control to restore order by the President.

"I will still treat you as the Head Peacekeeper you are, Clark, not like any ordinary subordinate," I reassure General Clark.

"Thank you, sir," he replies gratefully. "What are your orders, Head Peacekeeper?"

"Have the bodies of the rioters collected and identified while you check your security camera records to see if anyone escaped. If they have, place them under arrest. Lock down all civilian residential areas until we bring back civilization to this District together, my friend."

Clark smiles. "Funny enough, I actually met your brother while visiting my fiancé. You two have to be the best officers in the Force."

My senior aide, a male Captain, runs up to us. "Sirs, bad news. Just got word from the Justice Building: The Mayor was torn apart by the savages, while the rest of the civilians working there fortunately were unharmed. His bodyguard will live, but chances are he'll have to be discharged."

"What a shame for both," I say. I do not know why the barbarians spared the lower-ranking civilians-did the delusional traitors retain enough humanity to let them live but for whatever reason did not extend that mercy to the Mayor and the noble Boy in White who protected him?

"I liked the Mayor," says Clark in agreement. "Good at administration, even better as a father and husband. His oldest child just turned twenty today, so he's old enough to inherit the job."

The position of Mayor is hereditary, with the post being inherited by the eldest child unless the President deems otherwise. Though they are in charge of the civilian aspect of governance, all Mayors (even the one in the Capitol) answer directly to their Head Peacekeeper counterparts and thus have no real authority. It is a tragedy how this young boy will gain his position, though.

"It won't replace his father," I reply, shaking my head. I never knew mine (though I have the strong suspicion he paid my "mother" in cash), and it must be unbearable to the young to lose a parent at their age.

Clark leads me to his office, where I make a videocall to Snow. I inform him of the good news before telling him the bad news.

"Sir, the Mayor was cruelly murdered by the rioters. It looks like his bodyguard will have to be honorably discharged for injuries sustained in the defense of him-shall the oldest child become the new Mayor, sir?"

"Of course," President Snow says as if that's the most obvious thing in the world. "I read the boy's file, he's both educated and loyal enough. I'll send you a Medal of Service to be presented to him on behalf of his father, while the bodyguard gets a Medal of Honor. Additionally, the Peacekeeper is now honorably discharged on my authority effective immediately."

The Presidential Medal of Service is the highest civilian decoration in the Nation of Panem, while the Medal of Honor is the Peacekeeper equivalent and only awarded in the case of conspicuous gallantry and courage at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty. In my honest but humble opinion, both awards are warranted as is the honorable discharge for the bodyguard.

I promise to have additional information sent to him via messages as the situation develops before the call is ended. I then decide to go to the hospital wing of the Complex.

The bodyguard, who I now know has the surname of Victoria, is a pitiful sight. His legs have been amputated (though fortunately his spinal column was not broken, though I will not tell the Boy in White he is lucky), and his eyes are full of sorrow and pain.

But I know this young Boy in White is not feeling physical pain; even taking the IV infusing liquid morphling into him into account, I know from his eyes that the pain he is experiencing is largely or even entirely emotional.

"Peacekeeper Victoria?" I ask him softly; the other patients need their rest, so I will not wake them.

"Yes, sir?"

My green eyes meet his blue. "You did a good job defending the Mayor today, son. You may think you have failed in your duty, but you defended your charge when others would have fled. For your selfless and courageous service, the President himself has awarded you a Medal of Honor and an honorable discharge. You deserve them both, if you have a fiancé I suggest marrying her-or him. You two won't have to wait out your whole twenty years."

Unless his fiancé is a Peacekeeper her or himself, all of what I have said is completely true.

"Tell the family...I'm sorry."

"You didn't kill him," I say, "but I will pass on your condolences. Snipers and machine gunners will be posted atop the roof of the Justice Building so rioters and rebels don't do anything else to such an undeserving person like yourself. If anything, I should regret that I didn't have this done sooner."

**ME: Well this is my first update of Inspector Thread. Lemme know what you guys think via PM or review, particularly if I should keep updating.**

**A/N: I, like many of the fandom, subscribe to the belief that the Mayors held little real power in Antebellum Panem. This justifies why it's a hereditary position instead of being awarded based on merit; for a real-life comparison, the UK is still a monarchy but Queen Elizabeth II doesn't have any real authority over your average Brit.**

**The name of Head Peacekeeper/Major General Theophilus Clark is technically based off three people-two real, one fictional. His first name (and nickname) is based off the real name of a nasty piece of work known as Bull Connor, while his last name is based off two different individuals: Jim Clark, an asshole sheriff who pretty much personified the Corrupt Southerner archetype commonly seen in movies and was one of the officials who cracked down on Civil Rights marches. Also (this one wasn't intentional), Olympia Clark, Head Peacekeeper of D11 in T.J.98's headcanon. Check out his stories, they're good.**

**The Auxilias are named after the non-citizen soldiers of the Roman Empire. They're citizens from the non-Career Districts that serve as deputies for the Peacekeepers. If you want a real-world analogy, think of the Kapos from the SS concentration camps or the Andersonville Raiders.**


	3. Punishments and Rewards

**ME: A/ME: Now time for Thread to get to work.**

Three days; seventy-two hours. That's how long it took my Peacemakers, along with Clark and his division-sized Garrison, to bring back civilization to the citizens of District Eleven.

We have identified sixty escapees from the security camera records in Eleven's central city. I signed their arrest warrants. Though Clark would rather have them all shot immediately, justice is something to be dispensed carefully. Therefore, the suspects are to be detained while a court-martial panel of lower-ranking Peacekeepers determine whether they are truly guilty or not of the crimes they have been accused of.

This also frees me up for more important tasks.

For whatever reason, the President had the late Mayor's bodyguard, Victoria (who I now know has the given name of Leonidas, for he was named after a pre-Panem warrior king who died defending his nation along with his troops during the Battle of Thermopylae), flown out via hovercraft to the Capitol in order to be given robotic legs (even though conventional prosthetics, while not nearly as advanced, are more than sufficient and in fact have enabled some Peacekeepers to return to duty) and presented his Medal of Honor. In the place of our dear leader, I as a Head Peacekeeper could've done it but I do not question orders pointlessly.

I learned about the state of this District's central city, and will never fail to appreciate my hometown back in Two ever again.

This particular Sub-District, not counting the Peacekeepers, is barely populated even compared to some of the smaller quarrying villages and factory towns in District Two. It is more for administration than anything else along with dealing with exporting and importing goods. All the intra-district train (there is a similar monorail network in Two) lines terminate here; they then offload their cargo, trailers loaded with produce (cotton, fruits, vegetables, rice and sweet corn are what is grown here) that are moved via truck to District Eleven's Inter-District Maglev System station for shipment to wherever they need to go. Due to the fact that civilians here consistent solely of government officials (save for people like the Mayoral House servants), there are numerous abandoned shops due to simple lack of customers.

I am discussing the reports from the various Sub-Districts with the new Mayor, Robert Smalls, when the Head Auxilia walks in, my junior aide having let him in; the fact I reminded her not to let anyone interrupt the meaning must mean this is important.

Auxilias are not considered to be true members of the Peacekeeping Force and thus lack formal ranks, with all subordinate to even Peacekeeper Privates; however, fireteam and squad leaders may be appointed among them, while the man before me serves as technically the highest ranking of the Auxilias and serves as an Advisor to Clark. It's just like my Brigade's Command Sergeant Major does with me, only instead the enlisted are being advocated for.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir," he reports. He does not wear the straw hat and white balaclava standard amongst Auxilias due to the fact he is inside the Peacekeeping Garrison and thus has air conditioning and a lack of need to hide his face from potentially vengeful traitors, rendering both articles of clothing useless. He does, however, wear a white armband with the seal of District Eleven that distinguishes him from ordinary civilians.

"What is it, Head Auxilia?" I reply neutrally.

"The trials have been concluded, sir. Half were found guilty on murder or attempted murder charges and are to be executed, five were only found guilty of vandalism and thus will be flogged and the remainder were found innocent by the court-martial panel. Head Peacekeeper Clark wishes to know if you want to dispense any of the lashings or executions yourself."

There are four legal methods of execution under the Law of Panem; decapitation (typically conducted by sword), death by shooting (either a firing squad consistent of rifle-armed Peacekeepers, a simple bullet to the head (it is not specified whether or not a handgun or rifle is to be used, but most of the time this death is carried out by a 5.7x28mm round) or, most uniquely, three Peacekeepers putting their handgun's to the condemned's head but only one of them having a FMJ or JHP round; the other two executioners have blanks), hanging (favored for saving resources like decapitation but also more sanitary) and death by fire. The first three punishments are chosen by a judge or a Head Peacekeeper post-sentencing of ordinary death row degenerates, while the last one is reserved for those who rape or murder children (or attempt to commit such crimes) and typically done via flamethrower.

"Yes," I answer. "I'll decapitate the condemned myself. And get me my Lieutenant before you inform Clark."

"Yes, sir."

Unlike my senior aide, a born-and-raised District Two Captain, my junior aide is a Second Lieutenant from the Capitol. She is not hedonistic like many of the debt-payers that join (of course, for those scum aren't intelligent enough to even be accepted to OCS), but her parents gambled away their life savings and made her serve for their incompetence. It is a shame-this young woman was accepted into university at age fourteen, though fortunately she was able to graduate before enlisting. She deserves better parents than her sperm donor and his whore of a wife. Thankfully she was accepted into OCS for her intelligence and graduated at the top of her class.

She walks in. "Head Peacekeeper, sir, what are your orders?"

"Five civilians were found guilty of vandalism and are to be flogged, you are to dispense their lashings. Make sure to get their whippings in as quickly as possible, for it is cruel to pause or hesitate to the condemned."

She raises her eyebrows, but all I need to do is look her in her widened eye. "By your command, General."

My sword, unlike the Gladii used by non-Head Peacekeepers (officers having a Gladius with a gold grip, NCOs silver and junior enlisted undecorated), is a Model 1913 Cavalry Saber. Designed by the North American commander General George S. Patton, it weighs more than the Gladius but it is more than practical for combat just like it's shorter counterpart. Though ornate, the grip is only gold-plated for pragmatism and durability reasons; in my honest opinion, it still looks nice enough. Dressed in a Utility Uniform (my Service Uniform or Dress Whites would be seriously impractical in District Eleven weather, not to mention I like the protection provided by my ballistic vest), I walk to the District Square. There the thirty inmates lie on their knees, Peacekeepers and Auxilias guarding them (the latter only have combat knives and batons-electroshock ones for stunning civilians, rapid containment models for when bludgeoning targets is necessary or whenever a stun baton is unavailable or otherwise inappropriate for the task-though they are more than sufficient for keeping these murderers in line).

"Condemned," I address them, "you have been found guilty of either murder or attempted murder by a court-martial panel in accordance with the Law of Panem. Your sentence is death by decapitation, which I will carry out myself via sword for I will never ask of my subordinates what I would not do myself. Do the condemned have any final statements?"

Some express regret or remorse for their crimes, others plead for their lives or cry, others stoically accept their fate while others glare at me, defiant. The one closest to me, a woman in her late twenties, even shouts, "Give me liberty or give me death!"

I reply by decapitating her with a swing of my Saber. Twenty-nine beheadings later, I find myself wiping off the blade on the thirtieth corpse. My vest has blood on it-I understand the historical reasoning behind Peacekeeper uniforms being white (there is camouflage in arctic environments and the fact the color does not attract attract heat like darker ones do), but I will be the first to admit that in the field they are impossible to keep clean.

"Citizens of District Eleven," I inform the locals via the television cameras, "know this: Your District operates under the same rules and regulations as the rest of our glorious Nation. Anarchy and chaos are not the law; I am the law. The men and women I have just executed are-or were-common criminals found guilty of murder or attempted murder by a fair trial. Obey our great and magnanimous leader, President Coriolanus Snow, and you will have peace and prosperity. United we stand together as the culmination of human achievement and civilization, divided we fall alone into barbaric primalism."

My Brigade's Command Sergeant Major informs me of bad news. Clove Domitius, the female District Two Tribute (and savior of my youngest niece, for she had been Reaped but spared by Clove volunteering), had her skull cracked by the male Tribute from here, Thresh. She died despite her partner, Cato, begging for her to live. Couldn't that brute with all his strength have simply snapped her neck and at least given her a painless death?

Such is the price of the Capitol Massacre during the Dark Days-every year since then (not counting the Second Quarter Quell, where that alcoholic fool Haymitch emerged while forty-seven others went home in caskets), twenty-three Tributes have fallen for the treason of their ancestors.

Surprisingly, according to Mayor Smalls one Sub-District did not rebel at all. I believe this is too good to be true out of realism, so I have my hovercraft readied for an inspection of the village in question; the Commander in charge of the Peacekeeping Department there and his civilian counterpart, the Magistrate (more or less a lower-ranking Mayor), will not be informed of our visit ahead of time. This ensures that if they are lying-be it to cover up their own incompetence at failing to maintain order, or worse, being outright traitors and secret supporters of rabble terrorism-they will not be able to cover it up.

In addition to Smalls (whose eyes are red from crying; his promotion and the Medal of Service, as I suspected, did literally nothing to alleviate his grief or his family's, for that matter), both of my aides accompany me. The junior's hands are shaking-hopefully she will accept over time that those five civilians would be flogged regardless of whether or not she used the whip. If anything she might have reduced their suffering by not taking her time with the lashings as others might have.

I am no engineer or scientist, but our hovercraft are technological marvels. They are powered by mini-fusion reactors (one is enough to support a hovercraft by itself) which generate heat that is directed through the twin engines for forward thrust and power the rest of the aircraft via electricity generated through a thermocouple converting the thermal energy caused by fusion into said electricity; this operates the instruments and repulsors, the latter using electrostatic levitation to counteract the effects of gravity in a manner similar to how our trains use magnets and through them magnetic levitation. This vehicle's only real flaw is the disposal issues of nuclear waste generated by nuclear fusion, though said waste will be dangerous for only fifty years, low-level waste another hundred years and within five hundred years will be as radioactive as coal ash.

Mayor Smalls hands me a map of the town (which apparently has a population similar to that of District Twelve, the smallest of all Panem's population centers). According to him, this map is a layout of the Sub-Districts in general for while not identical they all resemble each other somewhat.

First there is the Government Sector. There is the Magistrate's house, the Administration Hall (a smaller version of a Justice Building where official business is conducted, such as the registration of marriages and signing up for tesserae), the train station for the Intra-District Network, the fire station, the Sub-District Square, the granary, the community home, the school and the local Peacekeeping Department.

Next is the Market, where the merchants live and work (just like in Two, above the shops are apartments where the storeowner families live).

Last but not least is the Residential Area, which provides housing for the farmhands.

When I ask what they are responsible for producing, the Mayor says they harvest peaches from a nearby orchard. Additionally, the entire town is surrounded by a twenty-foot high chain link fence topped by barbed wire; it is not electrified since it is not the outer fence, but it is more than sufficient to keep the locals safe from wild animals and roaming criminals from the rest of the District.

We land at the local Airstrip after the pilots are cleared to land by the base's ATC; if the Commander (a Lieutenant Colonel) and the Magistrate are suspicious, there is no way the air traffic controllers can confirm their worst fears.

I ask one of the guards, "Where's your Commander?"

"The Administration Hall, sir," she replies.

I thank her and continue on. Though both of my aides carry assault rifles, per regulations (and for my own safety; a Head Peacekeeper, of all Peacekeepers, should never be complacent) I have a holstered pistol on my right in addition to the scabbard for my Saber on my left; I also carry both a collapsible baton and a stun baton on my person for dealing with criminals when non-lethal force is preferable.

Both the Commander and the Magistrate are talking about something. Whatever it is, they stop almost immediately when they see me.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir!" The Commander addresses me as though a recruit, standing at attention and saluting me.

I return his salute. "Commander, we have received reports that this area did not riot like the rest of the rabble. I am just here to confirm your report."

He nods. "Affirmative, sir. There was no revolt whatsoever-if anything, the civilians here are more eager to return to their homes rather than riot needlessly."

"Then an inspection is in order, Commander. I always verify."

For starters, we go over the granary; other than water, food is the most critical thing to keeping humans alive. In contrast to the dark and rectangular wholewheat rolls of my home, the grain here is turned into dark crescent shaped ration loaves sprinkled with seeds. Fortunately, there seems to be enough grain in this building to feed all the civilians here.

Our next stop is the community home, also known as an orphanage, where children reside if their family cannot take care of them for whatever reason. It reminds me of where my siblings and myself grew up, only more cramped and without any Peacekeeper recruiting posters. The children here do not throw looks of hatred or resentment at us; instead, they avert their eyes and seem to be afraid of me in particular.

This is troubling; I am a Peacekeeper, law-abiding citizens have nothing to fear from us Boys and Girls in White.

The school is right next to the orphanage, so my entourage of five literally only has to make a short walk with me. In addition to vocational skills (namely teaching proper use of farming equipment), basic Panemanian (our official and sole language; I remember it being a descent of the North American dialect of a communication system from a land called England), math and a weekly lecture on the history of Panem are what's taught. Though farmer's children frequently are exempted from school with parental consent to provide additional labor for harvests, the literacy rate seems to be at least somewhat higher than is average for this District.

The fire station, manned by trained civilians, is the fourth building inspected. Firefighters are critical here because of the fact crops provide fuel for fires; I specifically prohibited the use of thermobaric or incendiary munitions for this reason. The locals salute me, and I am pleased to note that they are more than capable of using their equipment.

The Sub-District Square has all the prerequisites necessary; stockades for the confinement of truants or farmhands foolish enough to skip school/work respectively, flogging posts for petty thieves and vandals among other such criminals, a gallows for hanging the condemned (though their most recent execution was of a would-be child rapist, and to the glee of the locals per legal SOP it was through flamethrower) and a National Banner off the roof of the Administration Hall.

Inside the Administration Hall, all is well. The paperwork is up-to-date; marriage, birth and death certificates, tesserae applications and housing licenses are all neatly organized by the clerks.

The rumors about this place might be true.

The Peacekeeping Department here is even more impressive. The reason the Commander here is a Lieutenant Colonel instead of a Major is that Sub-Districts here warrant a whole battalion for law enforcement, rather than a mere company of infantry Peacekeepers. His men and women haven't forgotten how to be Boys and Girls in White; they are fit, attentive, respectful, disciplined and competent from constant training whenever not on patrol. The battalion's communications and IT officer, despite being a POG (a...term of affection...for anyone not in the infantry), is one of the better shots of the Department. In fact, the S-6 Captain's handiwork is shown; one ragged hole, courtesy of 5.7x28mm pistol bullets, in a target silhouette.

For reasons unknown even to me, I insist on stopping by the Magistrate's House instead of the train station first. In addition to his wife, he has two children; a boy who looks around sixteen-to-seventeen and a girl who can't be older than fifteen politely greet me. Like most District Eleven civilians, they have dark skin (though lighter due to not being farmers; I wonder why this pigmentation is so common here, perhaps it is due to extreme sunlight or some pre-Panem historical reason). However, unlike the vast majority of civilians here (who have dark irises; I am no geneticist, but it must have something to do with heredity), the girl has green eyes that make her standout and actually reminds me of Clove somewhat. I do not know why I think that considering how much their skin tones contrast, I just cannot help but note this. Peppermint tea is served; I enjoy this herbal drink (unlike other teas) for both it's taste and the infusion itself helping my digestion.

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss, Mr. Magistrate?" I ask.

He finishes taking a sip before answering. "I requested solar panels for the Residential Area and Market; we already have solar panels to provide electricity for all the buildings in the Government Sector, you see, even the granary."

I nod, for the granary features a bucket elevator to load the grain it contains. "I see-why do you want this done?"

"Sir, it gets very hot here being an agricultural district. The electric fans you see in this house are a luxury; not even the merchants have them. I just thought that it would decrease cases of heat stroke amongst the local farmers-once they got the fans, of course-and help reduce my Sub-District's demands on the electrical grid. Even outside of orchard work, my citizens can get very uncomfortable at best in their homes; fortunately, we do have a reliable supply of water and thus outside of minor improvements I can't really see why you'd need to put in significant overhauls on our supply system."

I nod. Proper hydration is key to survival, especially in areas like Eleven where the sun's rays do not show mercy. "I'll forward your request to the President. Anything else?"

He nods. "The lockdown. The local workers are upset that they haven't rebelled but are still subject to the same conditions as those who did. Is there anything you can do?"

I think of the food meant for the various Sub-Districts but withheld in the Central City ever since the riots began after Rue's death. "I will call the President myself, Magistrate, I swear on my honor.

Our final inspection of the Government Sector is the train station. Fortunately, it is in superb condition (I would not be surprised if more than a few others got burned down in other Sub-Districts by ignorant rabble). The Intra-District System, like the one in my home District, is slower than the Inter-District System but is still fast at 150 MPH. These maglev monorail trains are responsible for the transport of cargo and people from one Sub-District to another, though overwhelmingly the former unlike my home outside of Reapings; similar to Two, one Sub-District is chosen every year to publicly represent the District while everyone else picks up the slack (though Warrior Academy Cadets, unlike here, are always included and volunteer in place of those chosen).

The Market and Residential Area's conditions are abysmal, with the shacks of the latter being comparable to prison cells unlike even the homes of quarriers I have seen in mining villages, which look like Victor Mansions in comparison. The Market apartments are larger, but in all honestly they are only desirable compared to the quarters farmers get.

I remember the bombardment of the Capitol during the Dark Days; considering this District (along with Twelve and Thirteen, the former quite possibly even more emasculated economically and the latter wiped off the face of the Earth quite literally) contributed the troops involved in the attack, this must be the National Government's revenge outside of the Hunger Games for all the dead civilians who needlessly perished in the Capitol.

The fence only has two gates; both are so Peacekeeper vehicles can travel through and farmers can leave the Sub-District for work, though neither has happened due to the lack of need for reinforcements and the lockdown respectively. Regardless, the gates can only be opened by Peacekeepers inside the checkpoints.

My inspection complete, I return to my hovercraft with my aides and the Mayor. As we fly back, I call Clark and tell him to request an audience with the President on my behalf. When I get back, he greets me and informs me that all I have to do is make the call; the President is waiting, though this time it will not be a videocall.

I do not mind, for in fact the audio-only fiber-optic lines are easier to secure. Apart from seeing the other person's face, I do not really see the point in video communications (though I would be lying if the ability to see and speak to my brother from, say, Twelve while he was in Two wouldn't be a reason to have such technology).

"What is it, Thread?" Snow answers my call.

"Sir," I say clearly, "I have a proposal to further discourage insurrection."

"Go on," the President replies; I am grateful that he is willing to hear me out.

"Mr. President, the food meant to be distributed to the farming Sub-Districts has instead been held here in the Central City. Since one of said Sub-Districts did not riot at all, I propose that tomorrow we give them all of it and have it televised throughout the entire District as an example of what happens when you're loyal and productive."

"I like your thinking, Thread," is the response of the President. "You have my authorization. Snow out."

I am pleased to have gained our dear leader's permission for my idea, for otherwise it would only be a dream.

The next day, as the sun falls, there is a ceremony at the Sub-District's square. I stand and speak into a microphone, the Magistrate, Mayor and Commander behind me.

"Citizens of District Eleven," I tell both the assembled local civilians and the cameras transmitting this for the local television channel (larger Districts have their own channel, unlike Twelve, out of necessity), "our National Government seated in the Capitol demands much of you."

I pause just as a train stops at the station.

"But it also rewards you generously for loyalty. As this Sub-District, unlike the others, did not riot or rebel, you shall be rewarded while they are punished."

The Department begins distributing the food. Though the locals seem suspicious at best initially, soon they realize it is not a ruse and sincerely thank the Peacekeepers handling the food.

"May Coriolanus Snow's Presidency last for ten thousand years."

**ME: Robert Smalls is a reference to a former slave who helped found what is now Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island. One of the methods of dispensing capital punishment is a reference to the Divergent series. The last line is a modified version of a phrase that originated from Ancient China.**

**A/N: The kind of Maglev trains I imagine as being responsible for internal transport in larger Districts like Eleven and Two exist in real-life; look up Maglev 2000/Magneticglide's suburban/urban models. And no, Snow didn't let Thread have a Pet the Dog moment via handing out the food out of decency; the reason he authorized giving out the food and televising it was to foster divide in District Eleven.**


	4. Departure

**ME: Time to two certain canon characters to depart, one more dramatically than the other.**

I have just received orders from the President himself; at 1800 Hours today (Eastern Daylight Time, the time used for this part of District Eleven and part of District Seven, as well as all of Districts Six, Eight and Twelve), the Peacemaking Brigade is to leave and return to District Two for rest-and-relaxation as a reward for pacifying District Eleven. District Eleven's Garrison will now be fully responsible for law enforcement once again, for with our aid they have snuffed out the spark before it could burn down our Nation.

After giving Clark his office back, I walk into the Officers' Club. A television is on, displaying the Hunger Games.

It is not a good day to be Thresh, for District Two's remaining Tribute, Cato, has tracked him down.

Though Thresh evidently got strong working as a farmer, soon Cato, being a true warrior who has trained all his life to maximize his chances at bringing pride, honor and nutrients to our home, is eventually able to get the upper hand and slice off his opponent's right hand.

Thresh screams in pain, clutching his bleeding stump. He really should have simply snapped Clove's neck and gave his opponent a merciful death, otherwise he's a useless hypocrite who's getting his comeuppance and not liking the shoe being on the other foot.

"FOR CLOVE!" Cato shouts before using his Gladius to decapitate Thresh in one swing; unlike Thresh, Cato has decided to end the life of an enemy but make it as painless as possible.

It is a shame Clove is no longer alive; it would be nice to have two Victors instead of one.

On the bright side, Cato now has three opponents left; both of District Twelve's Tributes (I wonder how that alcoholic fool Haymitch has remained sober enough to talk to Sponsors let alone get their money) and the female Tribute from District Five, Finch.

Both of the Tributes from Twelve should be his main priority; the girl, Katniss Everdeen, is an ace with a bow and arrow (which I am suspicious of; are the anti-poaching laws not enforced over there?), while the boy Peeta was injured but is strong for a non-Career Tribute, especially when considering his birthplace. Finch seems to be more oriented towards stealth and deception (given how she stole food from the Career Pack), but she could prove to be trouble for Cato.

Nothing else happens, so I help prepare the departure of my subordinates. In addition to the Regiment's train, I have six strategic airlifter hovercraft each capable of transporting over a hundred passengers. That does not take into account all the other aircraft the Peacemaking Brigade has; I may not command a Garrison, but I do have a force capable of backing up my words with action. For that I am grateful.

As the sun sets on District Eleven's Central City, Peacekeepers either board the train or hovercraft or load equipment first. Trains have more cargo capacity than hovercraft due to their larger size, which in my honest opinion makes up for their slower speed (that and it is much easier to maintain train cars; due to magnetic levitation, they never touch the ground unless they stop, while the trains servicing Fort Cheyenne use older, conventional wheels-on-rail technology and thus need more maintenance; though hovercraft by comparison make maintaining Cheyenne's trains and their lines look like child's play given how complex they are).

Instead of my hovercraft, this time I choose to ride on the train. My quarters are a bit cramped, but unlike most of my troops I have a combined bedroom/office. I would not accept the comforts of my private quarters if not for the fact I need proper rest to run the Brigade.

"Sir," I report to the President via videocall, "all of my troops have left the Central City of District Eleven. Within five hours we will back at Two."

"Excellent work, General Thread," the majestic leader of our Nation replies. "I will pass on the good news to your brother. Snow out."

It will be good to see my twin brother Remus and our sister after nearly a week alone from our home District. If there is one thing I am grateful for, it is the fact I was assigned to District Two (though to the Peacemaking Brigade) like him; even the prestigious post of Head Peacekeeper of the Capitol would not suit me, for I would miss my family too much. Ever since our "mother" abandoned us, I have never taken my siblings for granted. Because we forged a bond growing up in a community home as disgraced children of a whore. And our bond goes beyond blood.

**ME: A/N: I named Foxface "Finch" after her movie name, namely because Thread isn't the type to use her nickname. The strategic airlifter hovercraft are the equivalent of the C-130J-30.**


	5. Homecoming

**ME: Welcome back to District Two.**

Because of the fact Inter-District trains are magnetically levitated above their guideways and don't touch the ground unless they stop, I don't know that we're back in District Two until we stop and an announcement comes on over the PA system.

"Peacekeepers, welcome back to District Two," says the driver.

I roll out of bed before sending a text message to the President to alert him of our arrival. For whatever reason, he didn't want me to call him; since District Two is one hour ahead of the Capitol (which is in the same time zone as District Four), it cannot be later than 1000 Hours. Then again the President needs his sleep more than I do, so this way it's easier.

I decide to sleep on the train for the night, setting my alarm for 0500 hours before going back to sleep.

After waking up, I change into a PT uniform and go on a run. I may not be young, but I did not spend most of my life as a Peacekeeper to become fat when I grew old.

After I run, I return to the facility to the north of District Two's Central City where the Brigade is based out of; it is named Fort Mars, after a deity of war from Roman mythology. Across the road is the Peacekeeper Officer Candidate School (OCS), formerly the United States Air Force (USAF) Academy.

As I walk back to the Head Peacekeeper's Quarters to shower, I truly take in how magnificent Mars is.

There are barracks for the quartering of enlisted, Officers Quarters for housing-wait for it-Peacekeeper officers, a motor pool housing all of our ground vehicles from MRAPs to tanks, a bank, a supply depot, a general depot, an airfield for hovercraft, a train station for the Inter-District Maglev System (to ensure rapid deployment), a post office, the Medical Center with it's red _H_, the Brigade Headquarters and a courtyard. There are other buildings that make up Fort Mars; however, I just mainly remember the more important ones.

The post office is where stationery and cardboard boxes are purchased and mailed, the latter to loved ones in the Career Districts or the Capitol or fellow Peacekeepers in different Districts (or in the Capitol). I have sent letters and packages to friends assigned to other locations (mainly those assigned to the Garrisons of the other Districts or the Capitol, but a classmate of mine now commands Fort Falcon, part of the Anti-Barbarian Defense Line on our southern border) and vice versa; it is quite useful in for the morale of the Peacekeeping Force.

The bank is responsible for handling the salaries of my Peacekeepers and myself. The payments are either withdrawn for use at one or both of the two depots, civilian shops or charity, sent to families or sit in the personal account every Peacekeeper has. Said accounts do not earn interest due to the fact the bank does not provide lending services, for what could a Peacekeeper do with a loan?

The supply depot sells Peacekeeping items, like uniform components and ceremonial sword blades; the latter are not frequently purchased since they are not mandatory for Peacekeepers to possess, though I own one myself (if I have to fight in my Dress Whites, I won't be able to use my Model 1913 effectively against enemy assailants anyway).

The general depot sells goods to ensure Peacekeepers are occupied in their spare time ("Idle hands do the devil's work," is an old proverb from Pre-Panemanian times; though I am not a theist as it is illegal, I understand the meaning). Newspapers, books, non-tobacco cigarettes (I swear, what North American idiot would allow his soldiers to degrade their health by smoking tobacco?) and chew, books, movies, pornography and harmonicas are examples of the depot's wares.

I enter my room in the Officers Quarters. Fitting for a Head Peacekeeper (though not tasteless extravagant), I have a combined bedroom/office (my actual office being in the Brigade Headquarters) and a private bathroom.

First I give myself a haircut. This is easier than it sounds; with a personal barber (a tool that is as easy to use as a comb), I am able to shave my hair to one-eighth of an inch long. I always preferred shorter haircuts growing up; they're easier to maintain, easy to clean when showering and far more professional.

Next I shave; facial hair is frowned upon in the Force because of how it indicates poor grooming. Either way, I enjoy being neat.

I finally shower. I need only a minimal amount of shampoo to wash my hair, which I do before soaping down. After toweling off, I dress and head down to the Officers' Quarters for breakfast.

"Major General Thread, sir!"

I turn around to find my junior aide, a Second Lieutenant and young Capitolite woman whose name I remember; Athena Claudian.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" It is obvious that she exercised this morning like I did, for her t-shirt is stained with sweat and her normally neat hair has more than a few strands out of place.

"Sir, your brother is waiting for you in the O Club," she answers. Then she smiles. "Know who I beat in a sword fight today?"

"A spry young Corporal?" I ask. Athena is good as an aide, and while competent with firearms is far from a CQC expert. When it comes to combat, her biggest weakness is sword fighting.

"Colonel Marius Hannibal, sir."

I congratulate the young Lieutenant (after getting over my disbelief) before dismissing her and moving on.

_Hannibal?_

The Commanding Officer of the Peacemaking Regiment is an expert swordsman. Clearly young Athena has been training hard; that is good.

I meet my brother. Though he has blue eyes in contrast to my green ones, a blind man could spot how much we resemble each other.

"Good to see you, Remus," I say before hugging him. I am normally stoic, but for my brother I am willing to show emotion.

"Same here, Romulus," he says smiling.

We eat breakfast together and talk. Apart from a problem with the railway electrification system in Fort Cheyenne (fortunately those trains have backup hydrogen generators, which keep the electric motors powered in the event of an emergency), he has had no real issues as Head Peacekeeper of District Two.

After breakfast is over, he leaves and goes back to work. I go to my office, feeling that tackling any paperwork I might have will be a breeze compared to pacifying Eleven.

At the end of the day, I leave Fort Mars and take an Intra-District monorail to Sub-District One, a prosperous factory town south of Central City once know as Pueblo. This Sub-District is responsible for the manufacturing of chemical weaponry as well as thermobarics and incendiaries. This is largely due to geography; it is very close to Central City, being less than twenty minutes by train, and thus reduces the odds of weapons being stolen. Sub-District One is larger than the rest of the mining and industrial communities in District Two owing to having to manufacture three different categories of weaponry, necessitating a larger workforce. A nearby dam to the west that was constructed during the North American Era like Fort Cheyenne provides water and electricity.

After reuniting with my brother at the train station, we go home. After eating dinner, we decide to watch a movie.

This particular film is _The Lone Survivor_. It tells the story of Marcus Luttrell, a member of an elite group of North American warriors known as the United States Navy SEALs.

The film opens to the antagonists of the film attacking two civilian skyscrapers and the headquarters of the United States military. While the latter is a legitimate target (though still highly dishonorable given how they failed to declare war first), the former have no military value and thus fill me with rage. It only gets worse when it is revealed via the narrator that the death toll was nearly three thousand.

The next scene has the President of the United States, a man with a Capitol accent named George Walker Bush (apparently his dynasty was important politically during the time of the North Americans), ordering an attack on the Taliban in a land known as Afghanistan. Their crime is harboring Al-Qaeda, a group of theistic (for their translated war cry is, "God is great!") terrorists responsible for the attacks.

It then cuts to Taliban-governed Afghanistan, which is clearly a terrible place to live.

Women are seen prohibited from seeking employment outside the medical industry (to prevent men from seeing female patients naked), beaten for walking outside without a male relative, denied education, are made to wear ridiculously impractical clothing and are prohibited from riding bicycles of all things even when wearing said clothing. Then there is widespread and legal pederastry, with little girls married off to elderly males (the narrator, who sounds like an older version of President Bush, confirms that it was widespread throughout the region Afghnistan was in, with the notable exception of a country known as Israel). On top of such blatant misogyny, rather than flog thieves they amputate a hand or foot and grow drugs to fund their government.

Marcus Luttrell and his three fellow SEALs, the quartet all dressed in white uniforms and speaking with Career District accents, pay the price for letting three Taliban members go. All but Luttrell die, but not before killing numerous savages.

The climax comes when Luttrell is rescued by a local villager, whose chieftain (and everyone of the friendly Afghans, including the rescuer) has a District Two accent. The Taliban try and fail to take Luttrell from the noble villagers, who fight off the cowards and buy time for the American military to rescue Luttrell.

As Luttrell is evacuated to a hospital (for he was badly wounded), the narrator assures us that Luttrell was able to live out the rest of his days in peace and enjoy his retirement.

**ME: A/N: The depots are inspired by similar stores in T.J.98's _Auxilia_. As you can tell, Panem's government film industry focuses more on a state-approved story than a historically accurate one. Marius Hannibal is a reference to Marius Gaius, a reformer of the Roman Army, and Hannibal, a man Patton (designer of the Model 1913) believed he was a reincarnation of. The name of Panem's southern border defenses is a reference to East Germany's name for the Berlin Wall. The thing Thread cuts his hair with is a reference to The Gentleman's Personal Barber, a real-life product available from Hammacher Schlemmer and SkyMall.**


	6. Recreation

**ME: Time for Thread to have some fun.**

Today my brother was able to badger me into going swimming in the lake.

While not as magnificent as the reservoir the Capitol was built on top of, Lake Pueblo is no pond, for it's maximum depth is one-hundred-and-thirty-five feet. In the surrounding District Park, there are various species of wildlife; blackneck garter snakes (a rare serpent species), prairie dogs, badgers, box turtles, rattlesnakes (at least these ones are only land-dwelling), beavers, raccoons, both red and gray foxes, cottontail rabbits, etc. The Park has for recreation, in addition to swimming, hiking, camping, fishing and boating (Pueblo is serviced by two marinas, enabling this activity).

I've actually figured out how to get a good exercise in from this outing.

The lake's two marinas are, respectively, on the northern and southern ends of the lake. Swimming to and from them (or to and from locations close to them) is taxing yet rewarding because of the costs along with the benefits.

As we walk to the bus stop, I noticed three people; two young males either in their late teens or early twenties and a girl who can't be older than seventeen.

I recognize the redhead boy; it's Leonidas, evidently back from the Capitol. The other male may very well be his fiancé (or husband now, given the former's honorable discharge); he looks tall and muscular, but judging by his hands being in his pockets isn't a Peacekeeper.

The girl resembles Leonidas, only her short stature makes her look much younger than her probable age.

"Leonidas Victoria," I say, extending my hand for a shake.

He smiles for once. "Sir." He then introduces his compatriots . "This is my husband, Xerxes. His parents own a bakery, if you were wondering why he's a bit on the bulky side but has his hands in his pockets." How did he know what I was thinking about? "Pipsqueak here is my cousin."

"PIPSQUEAK?!" The girl all but roars.

After all the handshakes and greetings are done, we get to the stop before boarding the bus itself (which arrives just as we do). I listen to the electric motors-it's somewhat harder to hear vehicles when batteries are powering them instead of hydrogen generators. This is one reason why the Nation of Panem has surpassed the North Americans and become their superior-our ground vehicles are entirely non-polluting, while apparently they used dirty diesel to fuel buses.

After we get off at the second stop, I tell the trio of our plans.

"I can help," the girl, who I now know to be named Claudia Victoria, offers. "I'll swim to the other end and determine who wins."

Evidently she's faster than she looks (probably due to her small size), for soon she's in position.

Eventually the race ends; shockingly, it's a tie. But I'm satisfied just with my workout, so I don't press the issue. And neither does Remus.

Leonidas invites us to dinner with his aunt and uncle, Claudia's parents. I talk with Remus before accepting his gracious offer.

When we arrive, unfortunately Xerxes isn't around; he has to work at his parent's bakery due to one of his younger siblings being sick.

It's a decent meal; tomato sauce and bacon-topped meatloaf with mashed potatoes. There is small talk; Claudia is a Warrior Academy Cadet (like the late Clove), but rather than volunteer or join the Peacekeepers (though she would pick the latter if she had to-who wouldn't?), she wants to become a weapons factory manager like her mother. Though I am somewhat disappointed by a Cadet not wanting to join the Peacekeepers, managing a weapons factory still is an important job.

It turns out that Finch, the female District Five Tribute, died yesterday. Apparently Mellark of Twelve picked some nightlock berries (Claudia complains about, "Blondie's abysmal survival skills,") and Finch stole a few before eating them. Her mistake cost her her life; Mr. Victoria, a Peacekeeper veteran who served his twenty years before retiring and marrying his much-younger wife (he's old enough to be her father; apparently she was in her late teens/early twenties when she married), nods at his daughter's assessment. He now operates his in-laws media store below.

I don't want to impose, but with Remus's help Mr. and Mrs. Victoria convince me into staying for a movie about a Pre-Panemanian civilization; the Israelis.

As always, the good guys (this time the Israeli Defense Force) wear white uniforms and speak with Career District accents; just as with President Bush from The Lone Survivor, their leader, Benjamin Netanyahu, has a Capitol accent. The film follows the Caracal Battalion, an infantry unit that was seventy-percent female. Their enemies are savage barbarians like the Taliban and speak with District Twelve accents. They fire rockets from civilian neighborhoods and blame the resulting collateral damage from defensive military reactions on the Israelis; in general, they're prone to cowardice.

**ME: Don't you guys just love Panem's focus on historical accuracy in their films?**


	7. War and Games

**ME: Time for things to get a little bloody.**

Today I will have an important task; presenting a history lesson to the Warrior Academy Cadets.

History was arguably my favorite academic subject, for I loved to learn about heroes of the past; successful Victors, heroic Career Tributes who perished in the Hunger Games and valiant Peacekeepers who died fighting to preserve civilization. Today's lesson will be about one of the World Wars before Panem; from what I know, it was the conflict that turned the North Americans into a superpower because of their wartime achievements. Maybe I will learn as much as the Cadets.

The Academy itself is the most prestigious school in all of District Two, and I enjoyed it here. North of Fort Mars and OCS, with a great forest to the west, the Warrior Academy was built on the ruins of a town known as Monument.

The young Corps of Cadets are assembled before me are dressed in neat uniforms; white shirts with black cuffs and white, black-trimmed pants plus polished black shoes. Very similar to Peacekeeper Utility Uniforms, only geared more towards formality rather than patrol and warfare.

"Cadets," I announce, "my name is Major General Romulus Thread. I am the Head Peacekeeper of the elite Peacemaking Brigade, a metaphorical firefighting unit if you will. Why?

"My unit is tasked with helping Garrison Peacekeepers maintain law and order throughout our Nation, be it putting down District riots to bring stability to unruly citizens or snuffing out sparks of rebellion that very well could lead to more terrorist insurgencies like what happened during the Dark Days; we were lucky that not all of Panem was destroyed, we may not have the same fortune if my Peacemakers and myself let the sparks catch fire."

I pause. The Academy Superintendent hands me a remote.

"Today you will learn about World War Two, a conflict that occured during the time of our predecessors, the North Americans, before Panem was even founded."

The movie starts off by introducing the main antagonist; Adolf Hitler, leader of a group know as the Nazis. He as well as his military commanders and high-ranking civilian officials have blond hair and blue eyes, while the minions have black hair, olive skin and gray eyes. Remarkably enough, all the Nazis possess District Twelve accents.

In light of monetary inflation and other economic problems, namely unemployment, caused by the local socialist government, the Nazis are able to take over a nation known as Germany via democracy (where citizens elected their leaders on the basis of popularity rather than actual skill). They have others treated for their genetic heredity instead of merit, which is how District Two's culture has always been; I can only guess as to how much of a madman Hitler truly was.

After the annexing of Czechoslovakia and Hungary (with half-hearted, meaingless protests from the disgustingly soft and weak League of Nations), the war officially begins with the Invasion of Poland. After that country is conquered (with assistance from the communist Soviet Union, who all speak with District Thirteen accents; granted, it's not as noticeable as District Thirteen was destroyed during the Dark Days for refusing to surrender and threatening to launch nuclear missiles), the nations of France and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Island. However, it's too little, too late. In just over a month the remaining continental strongholds of the anti-Nazi alliance (or, more properly, the Allied Powers) are conquered, forcing the British to retreat to their island homeland. The only saving graces are that King George the Sixth relieves his incompetent and cowardly Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, of his position before decapitating him publicly for his treason in failing to contain the Nazi hordes, and that the Nazis are unable to conquer Britain due to their navy and air force not having sufficient strength (and the incompetence of _Reichsminister_ of Aviation Herman Goering, who apparently awarded himself medals; not that Hitler, an enlisted soldier who was only promoted once, was much better within all odds).

Finally, over a year after the Battle of Britain (where the British prevailed for once, in spite of losing tens of thousands of civilians and the majority of their air force's fighters, the latter of which apparently had higher altitudes than hovercraft do but flew somewhat slower, probably due to their scientists having an inferior grasp of propulsion compared to Panemanian aerospace researchers), the North Americans (more specifically, the United States of America, for it's northern neighbor Canada obeyed the British Crown through a Governor General) come to the aid of the Allies with a vast army of men to retake the continent, which I now know to be Europe (the continent, assuming it still exists, lies across the northern half of North Atlantic Ocean).

Prime Minister Winston Churchill (who, like his monarch and the rest of the good civilian leadership, which naturally excludes Chamberlain, speaks with a Capitol accent) is a significant improvement to say the least compared to his predcessor. King George the Sixth is only able to prevent him from joining the counter-attack by saying he would come along as well. Such bravery is admirable, if somewhat foolish given Churchill's position in the government.

On a horrific note, we are next treated to a horrific example of what the Nazis did; Auschwitz.

A concentration camp, there they committed horrific atrocities that remind me of rebel war crimes. Gassing of women and children because they weren't strong enough for work, the slow deaths by starvation and exhaustion of prisoners and using people for sadistic scientific experiments. That assumes a prisoner isn't beaten or raped by the guards before death; millions perished, very few survived Auschwitz and other concentration camps.

Fortunately, the next scene shows that the Nazis got what was coming to them. They invade a region in France called Normandy by both sea and air, landing troops on the beaches and having elite soldiers known as "the Airborne" and "paratroopers" jump out of high-flying planes before being slowed by parachutes so they can safely touchdown. We follow a diverse group of North American paratroopers (who all speak in Career District or Capitol accents, the latter to a lesser extent due to the lower amount of voluntary Peacekeeper recruits from that city), led by a blue-eyed blond man with a District Two accent.

The film ends with the Allies having to face down a new threat; the Sovet Union, now having gained control of Eastern Europe due to the chaos of World War Two and the collapse of the Nazi regime.

I press a few more buttons on the remote, and soon we are watching the Hunger Games. Two of the seventeen-year old Cadets will volunteer next year (if only an eighteen-year old female Cadet had volunteered this year instead of Clove); they need to know what they're getting into, and Cato needs people to root for him after his partner Clove's pointlessly cruel and painful demise.

To say I am both disturbed and shocked by what is appearing on National TV is an understatement.

The three remaining Tributes are being attacked by wolf-mutts; what really is notable is that the pack of genetically modified organisms all resemble the fallen Tributes. One evidently is Clove with dark fur and green eyes, in addition to being one of the smaller mutts.

The remaining Tributes are able to climb to the top of the Cornucopia, where a bloodied Cato seizes Peeta Mellark in a headlock.

Katniss Everdeen has an arrow ready, but she doesn't immediately fire. Undoubtedly because her boyfriend/District partner (even if it's being played up for Sponsor money, I doubt there isn't at least some genuine attachment between the duo) would die as well.

"Go on, shoot!" Cato says. "And we'd both go down and you'd win!"

What is Cato doing? He has to survive, if not for himself then to honor Clove and bring nutrients to our District! Katniss still does not shoot, though I'm sure it's out of concern for Peeta; she at least genuinely cares for him, for as Cato (unwisely) pointed out she has no need to impress Sponsors anymore.

"Go on. I'm dead anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?"

The dark-haired maiden prepares to shoot just as Cato tightens his grip on Peeta.

"No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my District. Not that it matters."

_District Two matters! We are a noble culture of strong people; from our civilian quarriers and weapons factory workers to our Peacekeepers and Careers, we are the most hardy of all the Districts! It always matters, Cato, it always has!_

Using his finger, Peeta draws an 'X' on Cato's hand.

None of us are able to warn him before Katniss aims fires her arrow; even if he could hear us, it'd be too late. Peeta takes advantage of his pain to shove Cato off the Cornucopia, where he is immediately attacked by the mutts.

I will never forget the horrifying image of Cato being torn apart by mutts; he screams in pain as they maul him. I am not Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, but is this kind of death necessary for a brave warrior?

After crying out Clove's name, Cato is reduced to begging for mercy. "Please!"

Katniss draws another arrow before releasing it and ending Cato's suffering; she at least has the redeeming feature of not sadistically prolonging her opponent's death like Thresh did with Clove.

**ME: A/N: Using District Twelve accents for the Nazis was intentional.**


	8. Concerns and Two Victors

**ME: Time for Romulus to reflect on what happened.**

I have lived for fifty-nine years-over half the Hunger Games have occured when I was alive-and this has got to be the first time Panem came dangerously close to having no Victor.

For whatever reason, the announcer of the Hunger Games, Claudius Templesmith, declared in his booming voice following the death of Cato that the rule change had been revoked and that Katniss and Peeta could not go home together. I do not know why our dear leader President Snow decided to not have two Victors so suddenly, especially since it's been more than a week since the rules were changed.

However, no one expected the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games devotion to go so far.

Rather than kill each other (Peeta offered to sacrifice himself, only for Katniss to turn down his offer despite how easy it would be to go home to her sister by killing Peeta with his permission), the two young Twelvers (I wonder who came up with nicknames for District residents) nearly consumed nightlock berries to commit suicide only to be stopped by a panicked announcement from Templesmith that proclaimed them as the Seventy-Four and Seventy Fifth Victors of our great Nation.

My only real complaint (so far neither of these two have given me reason to complain; the President's word makes their victory legal, and while there is a chance that Katniss is a poacher due to her archery skills, unlike most criminals she chose to end Cato's suffering; she has at least that redeeming characteristic, on top of nearly committing suicide for Peeta and volunteering for her younger sister) is that Clove and Cato will now be sent to their families in two coffins. The former's case is even more tragic since she did not wait until age eighteen to volunteer and her parents apparently committed suicide the day after her death; Remus had to console her sister, a young Lieutenant under his command named Enobaria (she was named after the Victor of the Sixty-Second Hunger Games; the older woman had gained quite a reputation amongst District Two by age _nine_, which tells me all I need to know about how she won).

The Cadets, being a diverse but universally brave group of individuals, have varying reactions once I shut the television projector off (until the presentation of the Victor-or, in this case, _Victors_-watching is no longer mandatory).

Some, mainly the younger ones (chiefly preteens and thirteen-year olds), but also some of the older Cadets (probably classmates or even friends of Cato), are still numb with horror at our District's male Tribute's gruesome death. I sincerely hope no Tribute gets such a painful demise without having earned it and that they don't witness another death like Cato's.

The others are either shocked, despairing or furious. One of the older Cadets lets loose a stream of profanities that is only silenced by the senior ranking student of the Warrior Academy, the First Captain.

After the assembled Cadets are calmed down, the Superintendent thanks me for my presence along with the Cadets. After the latter salute me, I return their salute before leaving.

I meet my senior aide, Captain Daxos Arcadian, at the exit. He is dressed in a "B" variant of the Peacekeeper Service Uniform; regardless of whatever variant is used, the Service Uniform is used for situations too formal for Utilities but do not warrant Dress Whites. These situations include office environments, serving on court-martials, interacting with the public, visiting the Presidential Mansion (unless another uniform is called for) and reporting for duty. Arcadian's uniform is less formal than the "A" variant since it lacks a coat, but still has the white shirt with gold rank insignia and black tie (said tie having a gold clasp) in addition to red cuffs, white, red-trimmed trousers with a black Sam Browne belt (junior enlisted use web belts) and polished black dress shoes. Unlike the black trim and cuffs of the junior enlisted, all Peacekeepers at the rank of Corporal and above (with the exception of Head Peacekeepers like myself) have red-trim and cuffs due to the high number of dead Peacekeeper officers and NCOs during the Dark Days. In contrast, Head Peacekeeper Uniforms (with the exception of Utility Uniforms, which universally regardless of rank lack any decoration other than the rank insignia on the collar since it would lead to rebel snipers having a field day) have gold trim to command a presence from other Peacekeepers and civilian alike.

"So...how did it go, sir?" He asks. As he was waiting for me, he could not have witnessed the final part of this year's Games.

"The Twelvers won." Since I am not normally one for nicknames, Arcadian is even more surprised at my statement.

"Really? So Cato died?"

"Affirmative," I reply. "The Gamemakers brought in some mutts. All I'll say is that Katniss had to mercy kill him."

The Captain grimaces; I guess he will, like me, not watch the rerun of Cato's agonizing fate.

I pull out my communicator, an electronic device that enables me to connect to the wireless Peacekeeping computer network here in District Two. It is very useful for sending text messages, calling fellow Peacekeepers, information updates and as a map.

It appears nothing really occured when I was gone; granted, District Eleven has been stabilized to the point of where the President ordered my Brigade's withdraw. Hannibal, who always keeps a battalion ready at Fort Mars to deploy within eighteen hours (a necessity given how a riot in one of the Production Districts can erupt with literally no warning, like in District Eleven), informs me that nothing has happened in the agricultural District (even though Districts Seven, Nine and Ten are responsible for forestry/lumber, grain plus dairy and livestock, respectively, making the title somewhat misleading).

There is one event of note-with the permission of Head Peacekeeper Clark, Mayor Robert Smalls executed a female brothel owner (I do not know why prostitution is legal in the Capitol and why the minimum age of consent there is sixteen unlike the rest of the Nation, which completely prohibits and only allows at most nineteen-year olds to have sex with sixteen-year olds). Her "employees" were sex slaves, a few being underage, so the young Mayor burned her at the stake publicly as an example to potential offenders. Many of the victims and their families cheered her well-earned death.

Arcadian leads me to my command vehicle, which is simply a modified MRAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected). I honestly would prefer a bigger and better armored ground vehicle for an actual battle, but I do not deny this machine's durability against IEDs; the predcessors of modern MRAPs did a fine job protecting Peacekeepers during the Dark Days, as did theirs during the time of the North Americans. And I am in District Two; very safe, especially compared to the Production Districts out in the east

Just as I can get in the back and buckle up, I get a call on my communicator; it's my brother.

I sigh before telling the Captain to start the twenty minutes or so long drive and answering the call.

"Remus," I begin, "you know this computer network isn't for personal use."

"Well technically this isn't, Romulus," he replies. "Look, have you heard about what happened in the Games?"

"District Twelve actually won, this time with two Victors."

"Exactly." He seems to be getting to his point. "Look, just be on alert if HPS or even the President gets concerned about some of the Out-Districts rebelling."

The Staff consist of the highest-ranking officers in the Force, including the recently promoted Head Peacekeeper of the Armies, a loyal man from District Two named Gaius Augustus who has achieved the highest rank a Peacekeeper can hope for. In addition to the six-star position (which, according to the history books, was named after the North American-more properly, United States-rank General of the Armies), there is the five-star Deputy Head Peacekeeper of the Armies (a rank not based off anything the North Americans had) serving as Augustus's second-in-command. Then there are the Generals and Admiral (named after the four-star North American ranks) in charge of the Army, Air Force and Navy respectively; unfortunately for the Admiral or Head Peacekeeper of the Navy, our fleet is not much compared to the Army and Air Force out of necessity.

The North Americans truly had a grand seafaring force; the United States Navy was undoubtedly the largest and greatest of pre-Panem times, for they were able to maintain peace and order throughout the world. The mere threat of force was enough to intimidate many barbarians who otherwise would have slaughtered weak and helpless people beyond what is now Panem; similarly, the mere threat of Peacekeeper justice being dispensed undoubtedly prevents more would-be criminals from wreaking havoc on our Nation, a Nation unified through sacrifice and with it peace and prosperity.

Unfortunately, the Peacekeeping Navy has never been as powerful in comparison to the Army or Air Force since we are a continental power. Fortunately they are still capable of destroying any barbarian invaders from across the oceans with assistance from coastal defenses and air support before they land on either the West Coast or East Coast.

After Arcadian stops the MRAP, I thank him before going to the Brigade Headquarters. In my office I call the Staff; the fiber-optic lines are so much more secure than the wireless computer network for obvious reasons.

"This is Major General Romulus Thread, Head Peacekeeper of the Peacemaking Brigade," I say. "I need to speak with the Head Peacekeeper Staff about my troops possibly being deployed."

"Please wait one, sir," says the first voice, a young woman.

The second one is male and belongs to Head Peacekeeper of the Armies Gaius Augustus. "Concerned about the Production Districts, Thread?"

"Affirmative, sir," I answer. "District Eleven is proof that they're unpredictable and rioting can erupt with literally zero warning. In addition to that, sir, said riots could very well escalate into another rebellion."

"Understood," he replies. "But you can relax like your brother does with no harm done, none of the other ones have rioted; keep a battalion from Hannibal's Regiment ready to deploy along with a squadron and a CLB."

My answer is tactful. "Sir, you can count on the Brigade, sir."

"You don't need to tell me, Thread. Augustus out."

Just as I hang up the phone, Claudian knocks on the door. I tell her to come in.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Sir," she says, somewhat quieter than normal, "the Brigadier's aide-." For whatever reason, she seems reluctant to speak about it.

"Go on," I order her.

She continues. "-is pregnant, courtesy of her fiancé, one of the platoon commanders in the Regiment."

I groan. Peacekeepers are officially prohibited from marrying or having kids; I never had romantic or sexual interests, so while I do not see much of a point (beyond lack of distractions from duty) I never minded.

However, while Peacekeepers are unable to get marriage licenses, many frequently have weddings regardless. For whatever reason, provided they do not serve in a combat position (i.e. Infantry and hovercraft fighter pilots), female Peacekeepers are not disciplined for having children (nor are males for impregnating them or female civilians in the Capitol and Districts One, Two and Four) as long as the father is not a civilian from one of the Production Districts. Similar to Careers training in advance for the Hunger Games, I suspect that these loopholes are for one reason; to ensure more potential Peacekeepers are born.

"Just tell me they had sex _off_-duty, please."

"Yes, sir," she unhesitantly answers. I note her Capitol accent is now more worn-down and has a hint of District Two.

I tell Lieutenant Claudian to remind her fellow company-grade officer that she'd be disciplined if she was assigned to a combat post before dismissing her.

I check my computer; no orders to deploy from the HPS, the Minister of Homeland Security or the President. This is good news; it means I am not needed beyond Two and that my fellow Head Peacekeepers our maintaining the Nation's order and security, and through both prosperity and tranquility.

**ME: A/N: Though the Peacekeeper prohibition on marriage and kids is still valid, I have it that Snow allows for it as long as it's off-duty, the female Peacekeepers do not have combat jobs and it's never with any Out-District civilians. Thread, as you can see, is in my headcanon an aromantic asexual; if he could marry, he'd marry his job. Captain Daxos Arcadian is a reference to Daxos from _300_, an Arcadian leader who allies with Leonidas. ****As you can imagine, the Peacekeeper Service Uniform is a black-and-white outfit derived from the USMC's. The blood stripe is a reference to the one worn down the outside leg seams of officer, SNCO and NCO Dress Blues trousers. Katniss mentions a uniform designated for Head Peacekeepers, so Thread and co have gold trim. Romeo and Juliet laws also still exist. Head Peacekeeper of the Armies is a reference to the US six-star rank General of the Armies. The titles Head Peacekeeper of the Army/Navy/Air Force are references to the ranks General of the Army, Admiral of the Fleet/Navy and General of the Air Force, respectively, though the titleholders themselves are only four-star officers. No, the Peacekeeping Navy is not that powerful; it's effectively a shadow of the USN. And the reason Thread thinks of foreigners as barbarians is because Panem is effectively a fascist DPRK in my headcanon, as well as that of ForFutureReference's and T.J.98's. Very few Panemanians interact with foreigners pre-Paylor.**


	9. Meeting

**ME: Time for some foreshadowing. A/N: Though the Peacekeeper assault rifle still has the aesthetics of an FN F2000, I'm gonna change it's parts to that of an M16 (ableit a bullpup version). Why?**

**It still looks the same but won't be as convoluted to describe. So perhaps a slight retcon given Chapter 6 of _Redemption of a Butcher_. The process itself is what's used to clean an Anderson Rifle's AR-15.**

I am about to disassemble an assault rifle.

Some would joke and say I am an old man pretending to be young, but weapons maintenance skills are no laughing matter. I need to be proficient at more than a pistol so I stand a higher chance of surviving to serve the Nation of Panem.

A Peacekeeper assault rifle has four basic components; a lower receiver, an upper receiver, a bolt carrier group and a charging handle. Normally I would need to use a lubricant-which would risk a jam and was the cause of death for numerous North American warriors-but thanks to advanced North American nanotechnology that the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA; named after the order of scientists from the United States who used their minds to improve the capabilities of their troops and thus reduce the number of dead for their civilization) has improved upon all I need is a can, water, soap, two rags and a brush.

I disassemble the bolt carrier group before soaking each individual component in the soap-filled water, remove any dirt with a brush and dry them with a rag. The other rag keeps the floor clean, for I put all the bolt carrier group components on it.

Soon my rifle is reassembled; once again, it is a fully operational weapon fit for a Peacekeeper.

Next I move onto my pistol; it weighs less than two pounds when loaded with a thirty-round magazine. There are only three parts this time; a barrel, a frame assembly and a slide. Due to the fact the rifle's nanotechnology is present in this pistol and in fact all Peacekeeper firearms, my sidearm is just as easy to clean. Similar to how I cleaned my assault rifle, after the soaking I use a brush to wipe the slide and frame assembly clean before using a bore brush through the barrel. I then completely dry all the parts before reassembling the 5.7x28mm semi-automatic; only District Two could produce something so simple but at the same time elegant in it's own way.

I head down to get breakfast, the most important meal of the day, when I'm stopped by a female Captain dressed in a flightsuit.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir," she salutes me. I notice her Capitolite accent and name tape; EGERIA.

I return her salute. "What is it, Captain?" I remember who this woman is; Calpurnia Egeria. Of upper middle class origins, her voluntary joining of the Peacekeeping Air Force caused her socialite parents to more or less disown her. Fortunately her uncle and aunt, the Ministers of Science and Technology and Enlightenment and Information respectively, have not turned their backs on their niece like those hedonistic nitwits. She serves as my brother's personal pilot along with a younger Capitolite Second Lieutenant named Julian Jenson.

"The Head Peacekeeper Staff requires your presence at Fort Cheyenne for a meeting, General," she answers. The Peacekeeper Aviator then says, "Both of your aides as well as your headquarters staff have already been informed, sir."

"Very well, then. Thank you for informing me yourself, Captain Egeria," I reply. "Though why wasn't I called ahead?"

The young woman nods before answering. "Sir, all I know is that the meeting cannot be compromised under any circumstances. It's otherwise way above my pay grade."

"Alright." The fact they didn't even call via the fiber-optic telephone lines tells me this is serious. "Lead the way, Captain."

Egeria walks with myself in tow to the airfield, where a Command-and-Control hovercraft awaits; apparently the meeting is so sensitive that I cannot even take the train at Fort Cheyenne.

"Sir," she says as we board and are greeted by Jenson, who appears to be a bit more squirrelly-that is, nervous and restless-than his Captain, "I just want you to know Jenson may be a little younger than me but he's a natural. I swear to Jupiter, this guy could fly this thing himself if not for regulations."

Jenson thanks Egeria for her compliment and tells me how kind my brother is. "Sir, it's a privilege to fly for him," he says. "He's so nice and friendly to us. This is in spite of the fact we're from the Capitol."

I acknowledge his assessment of Remus with a simple nod. My brother has always been warmer and friendlier than me-I'm icy yet remain polite unless the receiver truly deserves it.

Soon I strap in and the hovercraft takes off shortly after I inform the pilots of my safety.

Normally I'm not one for sightseeing, but Central City is just as grand and magnificent-if even more so-than it was when I grew up with my siblings. Currently there are construction efforts to build textile mills in order to manufacture Peacekeeper uniforms; in light of the rioting in District Eleven (and the general lack of adherence to National Loyalism in the Production Districts), President Coriolanus Snow himself ordered this done via a National Security Decree. I applaud his wise decision; not only will this increase employment in District Two, it also will not completely cut off the flow of Peacekeeper uniforms in the event of a revolt from District Eight. Due to advanced technology, prefabricated modular buildings can be built at a rate of a minimum of two stories a day. To be able to construct a seven-hundred-and-thirty-story skyscraper in just a year is just one reason why Panem has risen from the ashes and surpassed the North Americans. More homes are being constructed as well to house the future employees of the uniform factories, plus their families.

After receiving clearance from the ATCs via radio, the pilots land the hovercraft in a hangar. The loading ramp is lowered, and I'm greeted by a squad of Praetorian Guard that are identifiable by the gold National Eagle on their vests-nine males, one female with red medic markings.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread, sir," the squad leader, a Staff Sergeant, greets me.

Praetorian Guard here aren't unusual due to the important nature of Fort Cheyenne, so they provide security alongside Military Police Peacekeepers. However, normally they protect critical areas like the National Peacekeeper Command Center. "Thank you for coming to greet me, Staff. Anything wrong?"

"Nothing at all, General," he replies. "Though due to orders from Head Peacekeeper of the Armies Augustus, the pilots will have to accompany us."

It is not long before we reach the Situation Room where the Head Peacekeeper Staff meets. The Guard waits with Egeria and Jenson outside, while I enter alone (after surrendering my sidearm).

"Level Zero security conditions."

At Augustus's command, a scanner confirms his identity by recognizing his hand and seals the room, turning it into a Faraday cage. Due to the blocking of radio waves, it is virtually impossible for communication devices to be hacked and used for eavesdropping. Similar to elevators, we still can know if anyone wishes to contact us via a light; however, that's it.

President Coriolanus Snow, dressed modest but stately, is here. I salute him. "Long may you reign as our eternal guiding light, President Coriolanus Snow."

He nods. "Have a seat, Major General Thread."

In addition to the two Presidential Protectors-both dressed in red uniforms with opaque full visors instead of the normal white ones with transparent half-visors; red to evoke the National Banner and willingness to die for the President, the opaque full visors to present a unified, intimidating fighting front-always by President Snow's side and within earshot at all times, there is the Head Peacekeeper of the National Security Bureau, better known as the Bureau or simply NSB; a woman named Margaret Steele. As the head of our Nation's intelligence, she is quite competent and actually very polite. This is in contrast to her superior and Head Peacekeeper of the State Security Service, a sycophantic fool who awards himself medals.

"You did a spectacular job ending the riots in District Eleven, Thread," Snow congratulates me. "I was concerned I would have to deploy the Airborne Division, but you and your Brigade made sure it was unnecessary. For that, you are hereby awarded the Homeland Security Superior Service Medal."

The Airborne Division, based out of Sub-District Two (built on the ruins of Denver, Colorado), is composed of elite air assault Peacekeepers. They are more mobile and powerful on the battlefield than conventional infantry units due to their use of hovercraft for both transport and fire support. They were modeled after the 82nd Airborne Division, whose equipment was quite inferior. I am glad I ensured they did not need to be deployed and could watch over the rest of Panem; an entire Division of Peacekeepers is no laughing matter, especially in the event of rioting in the Production Districts, where every Boy and Girl in White counts.

The Homeland Security Superior Service Medal is awarded to members of the Peacekeeping Force who perform superior meritorious service in a significant area of responsibility.

"Thank you, Mr. President," I express my gratitude. "Also, thank you for the construction now going on; we citizens of District Two are grateful for both the increased employment and the ability to help increase the security of our great Nation. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss, sir?"

Snow hands me a folder. "Inside are copies of sketches a young citizen of District Two drew. Out of respect for the wishes of the child's mother, I will not reveal his or her identity but have had her quietly compensated for her selfless service. Already DARPA is drafting up designs based on what was provided."

These sketches propose a new Peacekeeping Utility Uniform. One complaint is that the current helmet with it's transparent half-visor does not sufficiently intimidate unruly mobs-therefore, the proposed new helmet is fully sealed with an opaque visor. Suggestions include an integrated gas mask (due to the helmet being fully sealed) and a helmet-mounted display to present tactical data. The ballistic vest is ribbed and covers a wider area than the current model.

I like this new design; given District Eleven, it's clear it's time to change.

**ME: A/N: The proposed HMD is based off a comment by 90TheGeneral09 about how Peacekeepers could identify each other since the uniforms in the movies look identical. Three guesses as to what National Loyalism references, even though Panem isn't racist at all.**

**Some people like to think that Denver is the Capitol. Evidently they didn't read the book carefully enough to realize the Capitol wasn't invaded during the Dark Days due to the surrounding Rocky Mountains and/or flunked geography, because the Southern Rocky Mountains are to the west of Denver with the High Plains to the East. So unless they built a huge wall, it'd be a sitting duck. If anything, it'd be Kinbasket Lake in British Columbia, which is actually surrounded by the Canadian Rockies, which fits given the dam seen in the first Hunger Games movie.**

**Off-topic (feel free to skip if need be): Some of you don't seem to get that District Thirteen is a communist society, saying that Collins never stated it (though you seem happy to label the Snow regime as fascist even though it's never explicity confirmed) and that it's courageous and noble. Which ignores...**

**A) Thirteen cowardly and selfishly abandoning the Districts during the Dark Days in exchange for political independence.**

**B) The use of child soldiers, for Katniss stated those over fourteen were given entry-level military ranks.**

**C) The rationing of food going as far to keep people from taking leftovers on the basis that it's "hoarding."**

**D) Katniss's entire prep team being chained up and beaten in a cramped cell without trial just because one of them took a slice of bread.**

**E) The construction of snare-bombs to target medics and noncombatants coming to the aid of the wounded, which is a war crime under the Geneva Conventions and the Nuremberg principles. I suppose the bombing of the hospital in District Eight is acceptable as well in the eyes of whatever asshole views the snare-bombs as morally acceptable.**

**F) Taking out the Nut; given how Katniss, Lyme, Beetee and Boggs were all opposed to Gale targeting the train tunnel to keep any survivors from escaping, there undoubtedly were civilians in the facility who had taken shelter. Otherwise why would they be concerned about the survivors?**

**G) Invading the Capitol. What threat did the city pose to them? In addition to collateral damage (plus deliberate massacre and rape of civilians, on top of looting; District Thirteen's soldiers would be Commie Peacekeepers, while the continental rebels were irregular guerrillas with little recruiting standards) to both the Loyalist troops and civilians, all of Squad 451 save Gale, Katniss and Peeta plus Prim and all the other kids and medics died. And for what, some final big battle for the history books? All the battle was was an avoidable Fallujah that didn't win the war-the moment the Nut fell, it was already over-but pointlessly wasted life and money.**

**H) The fact Coin had a vote on whether or not to have a final Hunger Games and had the authority to approve one proves _she's a fucking dictator_, idiots! Do child-killing events occur in democracies?**

**If you people can't accept my frank assessment, fine some random idiot with a keyboard who'll satisfy your stupidity better.**

**Additionally, retcon for my OC Nero Augustus is now in effect; instead of having blond hair and amber eyes like Diocletian Cohen, one of ForFutureReference's OCs, he now has brown hair and blue eyes. This is to keep him from being a clone of Dio. Think Cato with brown hair for his appearance now, readers.**


End file.
